


Always the Same

by Ice_Fox



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 12:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19063147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ice_Fox/pseuds/Ice_Fox
Summary: The sun rose and set on the Valley of Ashes where everything was always the same. For Clara, life was always the same. Except those few changes such as birth and death.





	Always the Same

The dust and ashes stirred in the stifling breeze that blew across the plains. Dust flecked sunlight skimmed the parched land as the sun rose on another morning. Hazily, a yellow building wavered across the desolate land. Gradually, the sound of routine-led people beginning their chores, drifted across in a groggy manner. It was just another day in the Valley of Ashes.

With rumpled hair and sleep-clogged eyes, Clara slowly rose. A decade ago, her sister had got married. A year ago, she had died. Five years ago, a baby boy was born. A year ago, so was an orphan. Now, she glanced out of the window to see him happily chasing after a stray tabby. The cat was sure to give the big lumbering mass, following it, a good chase. 

In a trance, Clara went into the kitchen. There was the kettle, where it always was. She boiled it over a dwindling fire, as she always did. Life just went on how it always did.

Yet there was change. There was always change. A decade ago, her sister had got married. A year ago, she had died. Five years ago, a baby boy was born. A year ago, so was an orphan. Money decreased, depression increased. It was an inescapable circle, down in the Vally of Ashes.

* * *

The sun had nearly risen to its highest roost and the dusty plains cracked and shimmered in its powerful heat. It was beating down on the weathered, ashen faces of the dwellers of the Valley of Ashes. 

Clara was among them, crawling steadily like a desert beetle, towards the yellow-bricked building that sat in the dust as a grubby beacon. By the time she reached the thin shadow of the building, the sun had already began its slow decent, ready to repeat the cycle again. The downbeat pace was reflected in the attitudes of all, except in the orphan trailing Clara, little Lennie. Oblivious to the hardships of life, endless excitement awaited him in these trips to the yellow building.

The first of these, came trotting out from the sliver of shade for miles. Politely, it came up to Clara and asked permission: “Aunt Clara, may, I go with Lennie to the ash pile, please.” Clara smiled down at George Milton, the boy from the countryside mill that had moved here due to poverty. He had a slight unstable temper and could sometime take advantage of Lennie’s incomprehension but was a good boy really. She glanced up at the sign above one of the doorways into the yellow building:  _Repairs. George B. Wilson. Cars bought and Sold._ Yes, she remembered giving the young 3-year-old boy a new name and identity in case to many questions were asked. She smiled and nodded as he bounded off with Lennie in hand.

Inside the cool of the shop, Clara browsed the butters and jams that lined the shelf, yet she continued on past to pick up her regular plain loaf. She had earned enough for something extra, but she already had something in mind.

A lengthy conversation with the shop keeper later, and Clara began to search for the two young adventurers. Eventually, as dusk set in, three ash-coated people were sat in Clara’s house. Here was where Clara produced her present for her nephew: a rubber mouse for him to pet. George said some words of gratitude that Lennie could not. Her savings had gone to a good cause.

Suddenly, Lennie stood up and threw the rubber mouse out into the dusty plain. He couldn’t pet it. It wasn’t soft. He wanted a real mouse. Nothing was good about it. So, it lay in the dust for a hundred sun-cycles to pass over it.

* * *

 Clara knew this day would come. She could see George did too. Poor Lennie didn’t understand. He never understood. Her time to pass was in her dusty house, in the Valley of Ashes. Everything continued as always. No change. Accept the change of age, of death. George had promised her, that he would look after Lennie. She could only hope that this was true.

 


End file.
